LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



^np.. dnpijrigl^i Ifn 

Shelf _.-G.lx.T311 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Driftidg Leaves 



BHirvmG mmsB 



Rhvihjiiic and Prosaic 



BY 



KRYKS BECKER 



" Leaves that the ah ore -xc hid maij squander " 

—SWINBURNE. 

[ OFC 



rr36^-2. 



ELGIN, ILLINOIS : 

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 

M DCCC XCIV 



18H 



- K. 






^c^<\^ 



Copyright, 1894, 
By KEYES BECKER 



Cover Design by Florence Becker 



// is 7c 7'/// pleasure that I m- 
senbe this little volume to 
the 7nan.y friends of mine 
in our home eitv 



To the Reader: 

Mayhap we meet as strangers, yet my heart 
Bespeaks our lasting friendship ere we part. 

To the Critie: 

O thou whose cruelty is so refined, 

Most dreaded of all worthy seers, be kind ! 



If among these drifting leaves of 
swiftly passing thought there are 
some whose colors are attractive 
and worth preserving, the author 
will not consider his effort vain. 

A few of these ' ' lea ves ' ' have 
appeared already in magazines and 
periodicals, but the major portion 
of them are here printed for tlie 
first time. K. B. 

KlCtIN, December, 1894. 



Ieaf Inscriptions 



o5'i^i^l'lvi 



£ 



ivtic JLecn>e:> 



To Autiiinii's Child 
C'liime Oil, Sweet Beils 
My Sweetehearte 
Entreaty .... 
Sonnet .... 
I Want to Bo a Schoolboy 
Venus a la Mode 
To a Butterfly 
One of Many . 
Reverie .... 
A World's Fair Ode . 
A Batrachian Solo 

Song 

To the Winds 

A Missionary Miss 

On the Shady Side 

The Snowflake 

A New Year Thought 

Freedom's Law 

Ad Astra 

The Hold Resolve . 

'Ihe Snowflake Party 

Sweet Sabbath Day 

Lake Forest Laudamu.s 

Told by the Bells 



• rotate ^eaue; 



Harbingers 9 

Spring Poems 14 

Their Summer Vacations .... 20 

Where Are We? 25 

Money-Power .31 

What Fools! ,30 

American Art Standards .... 40 

Our Householil Goddesses .... 44 

Bric-a-Brae 52 



DRIFTING LEAVES 



TO AUTUMN'S CHILD. 

The first fair breath of autumn's beauty, love- 
The hints of color in the distant grove, 
The haze about the hills, the ripened grain 
Spreading its cloth of gold across the plain; 
The squirrel chattering from the leaf}' wood, 
The robin calling to her scattered brood; 
The mellow twilight, bearing soft and faint 
Along its gentle breeze the quail's complaint — 
Rejoicing sky and fruitful earth 
Have heralded thy happ}' birth. 
O autumn's child, to thee, to thee, 
Sweet eifts of all the vear shall be! 



CHIME ON, SWEET BELLS. 

O sweet across the glistening fields 

The Christmas carols play, 
And joyously each loving heart 

Doth greet this holiday. 

" Behold the Christ-child newly born ! " 

Resounds the glad refrain; 
And ever}^ soul that hears the song, 

Christ-like, is born again. 

Now " Peace on earth, good-will to men " 

Is pealing through the air; 
While hearts with kindness overflow, 

And rest replaces care. 

Chime on, sweet bells, till round the world 

Thy message shall be borne, 
And men of every clime shall know 

The peace of Christmas Morn! 



HARBINGERS. 

'^Y^O what varied uses is our beloved English 
X language subjected ! Now there is the word 
"harbinger." I well remember that in my 
reader at school there was a sentence wherein the 
birds were called "blest harbingers of spring." 
Since then the word has alwa3's been associated 
in my mind with birds — light, airy, volatile. 
How sad was my disillusion the other day when 
I found that this w^ord was the offspring (direct) 
of a German word which means a boarding-house 
keeper ! How could a boarding-house keeper 
ever resemble a bird ? Here is where your imag- 
ination musi undergo a severe strain. 

The original harbinger was a person who pro- 
vided food and lodging. Finally the attendant 
who w^ent ahead of a company of knights and 
ladies, to secure accommodations for them, was 
called the harbinger. Thus a precursor or fore- 



runner — an advance agent, if you will — became 
a harbinger. 

And as the birds precede the spring, although 
not to provide for others that may follow, so by a 
liberal use of poetic license they are called har- 
bingers. 

Perhaps on this basis pride might be called a 
harbinger of autumn, since it goes before a fall. 

If you desire an absorbing study, and one of 
great practical benefit, stud}^ the growth of lan- 
guage and the meaning of words. 

10 



MY SWEE:rEHEAKTE. 

Sing, all 3'e Byrdes, & all good Meniie rejoyce, 
& keepe my Hearte companioun on y^ daye, 

For y^ ye sing with iiniversalle Voyce 

Unto ni}^ Sweetehearte comyng hither waye. 

Ye Roses to her queenlie Beautie bowe; 

Ye Nightengale forgets hys Evensong; 
Y*^ Troubadour unstrynges hys Harpe, I trow. 

When my faire Sweetehearte comes y^" path 
along. 

O there be Maides yt lovelie are & rare, 

With sundrie Charms for universalle Praise, 

But my Sweetehearte is more y^^ passing faire 
With graces little known to Fashioun's wayes. 

Her Haire is darker y'^ y*-' deepest Shade, 

& starlighte-brymminge are Her lambent eyes; 

& oh, y^' Forehead of y^ lovelie Maide 
Is fairer y'- y^' Sculptour can devise! 

She Cometh like y*-' fragrance of y^ Rose, 
Attending gentle Windes across y*^' fields. 

Thou hast no choyce but love Her as She goes. 
For all y^ mystic Beautie y'^ She yields. 



ENTREATY. 

Mariana! Fairy footsteps tinkle through the 
summer glade. 

Mariana! Elves are dancing 'neath the elm- 
trees' mottled shade. 

Moonbeams peeping through the roseleaves, 
making shadows soft and cool. 

Mariana! I am waiting here beside the rippling 
pool. 

Philomela sings a love-song — low and tender — 

loud and clear — 
Sings for me in sweetest cadence: Mariana, dost 

thou hear? 
O she conies! and in her splendor dims the rays 

of lyuna's glory. 
Golden-haired and ruby-hearted, let me tell thee 

love's dear story! 

12 



SONNET. 

As shipwrecked mariner on sea unknown, — 
His compass gone, his helpless boat adrift, — 
With fevered thought wears out each day alone, 
Or waits for night its weary pall to lift; 
When to his fearful gaze some budding dawn 
Reveals an isle in summer sheen arrayed, 
With one wild thrill he bids all fear begone. 
And plies the oar to rest beneath the shade: 
So I, adrift on life's tumultuous sea, 
Tost here and there by fortune's varying tide, 
On some fair day did hapl}^ look on thee. 
And flew to rest me at thy loving side. 
And safe in that fair haven, what care I 
Though moaning bar complain to stormy sky\ 

lo 



SPRING POEMS. 

TT7H0 has not read them? Where is the 
VV aspiring poet who has not emptied his 
quill and his noddle upon the subject of 
Spring? What versifier of renown but has had 
them concealed about his person at some time? 
Who without them ever chained entrance to the 
temple of fame? 

Oh, there's no subject like Spring — so fertile, 
so nascent, so revivif\'ing, so instructive, so eas- 
il}' treated— and so hard to improve upon! 

You ma}', perhaps, have noticed how often 
the spring poem is tlie fall of the poet. If you 
are a poet and warit to be famous — and what poet 
does not? — you should postpone the construction 
of your spring poem. Put it oif indefinitely. 
Neglect it until you have no other refuge. The 
reason so many poets die young is because the}^ 
do not put off this dut}'- long enough, 

However, if 3'ou are determined to write your 
spring poem at once. 3^ou will do well to observe 
the following rules and order of busine.ss: 



1. Make 3'our last will and testament. 

2. Set aside a liberal appropriation for grass 
on your grave. 

3. L,ook well to your life insurance, 

4. Produce poem. 

5. Publish poem. 

You may live through it, but it is better not 
to hope for any such luck. 

Supposing, however, that the critics grant 
3'-ou a sentence for life : What is it to be petted 
and feted — to be held before a curious public and 
be expected to dance, like a doll in a puppet- 
show; to be worshiped by those for whom you do 
not care; to be patted on the back by those Vvho 
are mentally your inferiors; to be galled bj^ those 
who seek to know the meanir.g of your simplest 
lines ? 

Such is a poet's penalty for fame. Ah, it is 
a hard lot — to spend time and intellect on a few 
sad rhymes, and then have them misunderstood, 
or rejected, or "electrocuted" by the intelligent 
printer. 

Yet success brings one consolation : You are 
educating the masses. You are engaged in a 
noble missionary work which has been going on 
for several thousand years, and always in a wid- 
ening field. 

15 



Come oil with your effusion ! If you must 
write a poem on vSpring, do it, though the heav- 
ens fall— and they will if it is April weather. 

Let all your fancied echoes ring 
With sweet accord: "Hail, gentle Spring!" 
And if the " gentle " tribute fails, 
You'll surely cntcli it when slie " hails,'' 



/ JVAN7' TO BE A SCHOOLBOY 

I want to be a sclioolboy 

And with the schoolboys stand — 
A joyous shout upon my Ups, 

A reader in my h.and, 

I'd like to play at marbles 

And " drain " the other kid — 

Just as the "other feller " used 
To do to me, he did ! 

O barefoot little schoolboy, 
Your days are very happy; 

Your every want is gratified 
By a kind, indulgent pap>py. 

You do not have to go to church 
To hear some sinner pray; 

But you can sleep the livelong night 
And swim the livelong day! 

Ah, blithesome, roguish schooll^oy, 

You do not have to strive 
Full four and twenty hours a day 

To keep yourself alive. 

17 



Then go it, little schoolboy, 

And take especial care 
To practice " hookey " every day — 

'Tis exercise most rare! 

And when you're tired and go to bed. 

You precious little fool, 
Don't you forget to thank the Lord 

That you can go to school ! 



VENC^S A LA MODE. 

'Twas ill a chair car on the train 

I first observed tliis witching maid. 
I stole a single glance, and then 

I stole another, half afraid. 
Her face was fresh as aii}^ rose; 

Her dress was in the latest st3le; 
Her bonnet quite b' propre chose — 

As she sat across the aisle. 

I noted w^ell her deep, dark eyes, 

Her pretty foot, her quiet mien; 
Here was no beauty in disguise — 

"Twas Venus or some kindred queen. 
She read a daint3'-covered book, 

And as she read I saw her smile: 
I lost m}^ hea.rt in that one look, 

As she sat across the aisle. 

As on we sped I wove a thread 

Of romance rich and rare: 
Some happy day we should be wed — 

I and this maid so fair. 
But day-dreams to an end must come, 

And mine was placed on file 
When Venus bought three sticks of gum 

As she sat across the aisle! 



THEIR SUMMER VACATIONS. 

IT is a favorite custom with most people who 
dwell in a northern clime to take their vaca- 
tions in summer — when weather in the city 
has affected business and ice is too costly to use 
at every nieal. Then they scatter to various re- 
sorts, country' houses, mountains, lakes and riv- 
ers, to cool off and renew their depleted energies. 
The annual round-up of these vacation-seek- 
ers discloses many peculiar specimens. 

There is the young man who has taken a fly- 
ing trip to the Rocky Mountains. He has peeped 
into Arizona, dipped into Salt Lake, ripped up to 
Pike's Peak, and tripped back to his de.sk in the 
oflice. What has he seen? Tiie first day he is 
back he can tell of many things. In a week he 
can think of nothing new, and in a month he is 
uncertain whether he has .seen the Rocky Moun- 
tains at all. He can tell nothing about the loca- 
tion of the Garden of the God.s — and he wishes 
after all that he had gone to Yellowstone Park or 
Alaska! 



There is the schoohiia'am who has been to 
Chautauqua or some other brain and nerve cen- 
ter. vSlie can give minute descriptions of tlie 
young- men and the joll}' times. But she cannot 
tell anything about the lecturers or tlieir various 
themes. 

There is the entire family which has been to 
the popular watering-place. Its members have 
come home a little more languid, a trifle more 
useless than when they went away at the begin- 
ning of the season. " Oh, we had a lovely time 
at the sea-shoah ! " And the girls recount their 
conquests, the boys recount their adventures as 
young i)loods, and the astute pere thinks he 
would like to recount some of the cash it all cost. 

The young man who has braved the terrors 
of camping out has returned poor in flcvsh but 
rich in experience; and the girl who joined a 
sketching party is back with the sweet conscious- 
ness that she has something to show for her days 
of recreation, and she proudly produces an oil 
sketch which might be labeled "Plymouth Rock" 
or "A New England Farm" with equal verit\'. 

And so on through the list — with seldom a 
person w^ho has gained actual knowledge or se- 
cured actual rest. 

They have all had a change, however, and 



they are none of them nuich worse off ihan the}- 
would have been at home. Tlierefore, let us not 
be too severe on the summer vacation . Let us 
believe that its intentions are honorable, and that 
it makes the most of what material comes to its 
hand. 

The true and right spirit of a vacation, as of 
all other good things in life, is to make it profit- 
able for others as well as for yourself. There is 
always someone who cannot go on a vacation. 
You, who have such liberal siestas, divide with 
the one who has no respite. He will appreciate 
the noveltv, and it will do vou s^ood. 



TO A BUTTERFLY 

IN A GREAT CITY. 

From what rose-covered field or sunlii way, 
Bearing the semblance of its charms with thee, 

Dost thou to thiis dark city fluttering stra}' — 
Thou emblem frail of immortality? 

What compass guides thee, gentle mariner? 

Through these uncertain deeps of air what gales 
Have borne thee, an unwilling wanderer? 

What harbor w^aits thy silken-furling sails? 

No firefly lights thy pathvv^ay through the dark, 
No tinkling harebell warns thee how to steer; 

Here are no moorings for tli}- winged barque, 
No cargo honey-flowered waits thee here. 

Furl not the pinions to thy ship of air. 
Nor trust the fickle tide of unknown seas; 

But haste thee, fairy sailor, otherwhere. 

Thy pictured canvas answering to the breeze. 

Sail boldly on, nor falter in thy way: 

There is a Pilot marks thy course amain; 

The chart and compass of His love this day 
Shall bring thee safe to flowery fields again! 

23 



ONE OF MANY. 

A tiny leaf fresh springing from the bough, 
By one short summer to its limit grown, 

In autumn dies — its mission done. I trow 
It was a human life, were it but known! 



RFA^ERIE. 

He sat beneath the locust shade. 
And, watching with a dreamy eye. 

Observed the light of evening fade. 
And shadows on the mountains die. 

"E'en so," he mused, "with human hearts, 
Which love makes light with joy untold : 

When true love from them once departs. 
It leaves them dark and cold ! " 



WHERE ARE WE f 

A PERTINENT question — 2^ Jin de sicdeo^Q^- 

i\. tion — a question for historians — a query 

for everybody: Is the world any further 

advanced than it was an hundred — two hundred 

— years ago? 

The world — which means the human race — 
must certainly have something to show for its 
time; and it has, in material progress — bodily 
comforts — better tools — more speed. 

But what mental progress is apparent? Have 
we a literature surpassing that of the Elizabethan 
Age? Art that is broader than the Renaissance? 
Music that is grander than Mendelssohn or Bee- 
thoven? 

It is evident that in the realm of mind we 
have not surpassed — we have not equaled — his- 



tory. It nia3' be that we are nndergoiiig an in- 
tercalary age of appreciation and interpretation. 
It is certain!}' not a widely productive age. The 
great poets are not the living ones; the great 
musicians have joined the "choir invisible "; the 
great painters are alive in their works only. 

It is the age of the skilled physician, the 
clever artisan, tlie miraculous inventor. The 
baser necessities of civilization have called for 
the brain and sinew of humanity. Refinement, 
culture, and the progress of ideals have been ac- 
corded a secondary position. 

Culture, according to Emerson, is the only 
hope of tlie human race. The survival of th.e 
fittest is not to be decided by a war and a striv- 
ing for the material things of life — not ])y power 
of muscle and strength of will. The supremacy 
of thought, the a])ility to grasp an ideal — these 
are the hope of the race. 

How much have we as individuals contrib- 
uted to this? Where are we? Do we intend to 
remain in our shells, or to come forth? 

Shall we spend our time and our gold for the 
outward and tlie showy, giving no thought to 
tlie ideal and the spiritual? Shall we be content 
to remain ciphers in culture, and factors of in- 
dustry alone? It is a pertinent question. 



A WORLD'S FAIR ODE. 

They were crowded in the street-car; 

They were standing in the aisles; 
They were sandwiched in the windows, 

The^^ were gatliered into piles. 

There were Poles and there were Germans, 
There were Irish, yes, and Dutch, 

There were Frenchmen and Italians, 
There were Chinamen and such. 

Men from Paraguay and Chili 
Calmly rested on Norwegians; 

Islanders from the Canaries 
Stood on Terra del Fuegians . 

There were Bengalese and Scotchmen, 

Also Eskimos and Japs; 
Also numerous Laplanders 

Sitting on each others' laps. 



There were Zulus by the dozen. 
Likewise men from little Flanders; 

There were Mexicans and Malays 
Mixed with Honolululanders, 

Yes, and there were dark Egyptians, 
Turks, Algerians and Grecians, 

Danes, Brazilians, Finns and Welshmen, 
Medes and Persians and Venetians. 

Yet with all the jam and crowding 
Of these widely diJBferent creatures, 

There were smiles of mystic brightness 
On each proxy nation's features. 

Why the happy look and joyous 
Worn by every person there? 

Car so crowded that conductor 
Couldn't get a single fare! 



A DATRACHIAN SOLO. 

"I've a tale to unfold," sang a green frog and old 

As he caroled away in his glee; 
" O, I care not for lands and I care not for gold, 

Nor pearls from the depths of the sea! 

" I'm a happ}^ old moke, and I frequently croak, 

If the weather is damp or is dry; 
But some practical joker once called me a croaker, 

And then I was angr}', was I. 

"It may be a joke to sa}^ that I croak, 

But that is a matter of mine; 
I am happy meanwhile — 'tis my audible smile 

When things are especially fine. 

" What if everyone knows I am dressed in old 
clothes? 
I don't lose my slumber for that. 
Why on earth should I care, since I always can 
wear 
A white vest and my lih^-pad hat ! 

L'!> 



"Just now, far and nigh, 'hard times ' is the cr3% 

And silver is low, I am told; 
But I'm not with the cranks who make runs on 
the banks, 

For ni}' green back is better than gold. 

"If all people on eartli sold for all they were 
worth , 

There'd be any amount of cheap sales. 
Hard times and hard cash bring on many a crash, 

And the tariff's a 'jonah' for whales. 

" While critics are carping and growlers are harp- 
ing 
About the sad state of our land. 
Now and then some great mind in good faith has 
denned 
Many things that are hopeful and grand. 

" So, if happ3^ you'd be, don't endeavor to see 
What flaws you can pick in creation. 

For you'll find, after all, the amount is so small 
That it isn't worth much agitation." 

:!0 



MONEY- POWER. 

TT is useless to den}- that a worship of wealth 
I exists in this countr3\ Wealth is worshiped 
in all countries; but there is here a suprem- 
acy over wealth which many social critics ignore. 
Wealth is most regarded for what it will bring — 
not for what it is. 

Money will bring me large estates, fine houses, 
eas}' carriages, willing servants. It will bring 
me a better library, richer paintings, more com- 
forts. Is it a sin to have such things ? By no 
means. And j^et wealth carries with it a great 
responsibility. 

Money is chiefly valuable for the opportunity 
it affords of being or doing something for a wor- 
thy humanity. It gives us time — a breathing 
spell to follow our cherished art or .science, free 
from the impudence of the bread-and-butter 
question. It gives us cheques for literary clubs, 
improvement associations, fresh air funds, mu- 
seums, and chairs in colleges. 

The rich do not worship their wealth as much 
as the poor envy it. Almost anj^ morning, as I 
look from my window, I see John with the tools 
?.\ 



of industry on his shoulder, going to labor for 
his daily bread. I see him pass Mr. Moneybags 
in his landau. I know that John mentally says: 
" You old duffer, I wish I had your gold!" But 
meantime he bows and touches his hat, for he 
recognizes the power of money. 

It is not a worship as much as it is a want 
that makes him respectful. John knows that Mr. 
Moneybags could at any time make him rich if 
he but would, and this knowledge makes John 
civil. 

How often we hear the remark: " If I had 
that person's money I would not do as he does!" 
Of course not. You would ride your own pet 
hobby — perhaps as cranky a mount as his. Oh, 
we can all conjecture on what we would do if we 
had So-and-so's resources! It is a delightful way 
to visit x\rcadia — with somebody's income. It is 
so much easier than working our passage! 

Power — whether it be the magnetism of a Na- 
poleon, the might of a Sandow, the eloquence of 
a Garfield, or the mesmerism of a Gould — will 
always find its worshipers. The power to do any- 
thing better than your neighbor — that is the be- 
ginning of worship. The actor who best por- 
trays Hamlet, the lawyer who most easily bends 
his jury, the physician whose skill is most effect- 

32 



ive — are they not all subject to adiiiiratioii and 
envy? 

It is the power we have not — the sonietliing 
we can not understand — which makes us wor- 
shipers. 

Money is not power. The miser dies of star- 
vation, clutching his yellow gold with frozen fin- 
gers. The spendthrift and his ducats are soon 
parted. Money is a possibility of power — an at- 
tribute, if 3^ou will. Directed by a discriminat- 
ing .sense, it brings and retains power. 

Perhaps you have read " A Window in 
Thiums," and perhaps you remember that the 
author says: " Let us no longer cheat our con- 
sciences by talking of filthy lucre. Money may 
always be a beautiful thing. It is we who make 
it grimy." 

Thei e are men in every community who make 
themselves feared because the}^ possess the power 
of money. There are others in the same place 
who secure the love of everyone by reason of 
that power. It is mereh^ the difference between 
use and abuse. 

Of what use is the Golden Calf if we keep 
the poor animal locked in its stall ? It is onl}^ 
when everyone shall have a veal cutlet that the 
beast will be appreciated ! 



SONG. 

Had I the magic wealth which kings enfold — 
The crown of state, the flash of diadems, 
Rich treasures reddened by the gleam of gold, 
The marble Parian, or the priceless gems 
Which their proud kingdoms boast; nay, more — 
If all their lackeys and their courtiers bowed 
In meek array my jewelled throne before 
And gladly did my wish — a servile crowd : 
Were all these wishes mine, without thy love, 
My life were naught; but with one gem — thy 

heart, 
O fairest, sweetest maid, no power above 
Can gild my untold wealth by subtlest art ! 



TO THE WINDS. 

Winds of the Springtime, all spic}- with frao^rance, 
Pla}' with the ringlets of Claribel's hair! 

Tenderly, tenderly, touch the soft ripples — 
Softer than sunlight in iVraby fair. 

Kiss her bright cheek, O ye Winds of the Summer! 

Soften her flush with your mystic caresses. 
Shy is the maiden — with love you must woo her; 

Lovingly w^oo her until she confesses! 

Bold Autumn Breezes, you frolicking fellows, 
Gaily carousing o'er hillock and dell, 

Sport with the leaves in their browns and their 
yellows, 
Yet gently — so gently — with sweet Claribel ! 

Cruelly cold, heartless Winds of the Winter! 

Come not anear her with harsh, icy breath . 
Life is the warmth of a red lip and laughter; 

vStilled is the song of the wdiite lip of death ! 



WHAT FOOLS! 

IT is the difference in the way 3^011 make a 
statement that renders it acceptable. For 
instance, the statement, "All men are fools," 
would not be taken kindl}^, because you always 
know of at least one exception to it. 

How much more satisfactory and impersonal 
the sentence, " What fools these mortals be!" 
That is merely an exclamation. It may include 
yourself or your neighbor, but without either of 
you realizing it. It applies equally well to the 
past, the present, the future. It is such a polite 
phrase — and such a true one! 

The word fool is derived from a Latin word 
meaning a bellows or wind-bag. The applica- 
tion is significant. 

There are fools and fools. The difference be- 
tween them is aptly expressed by an old writer, 
in the following terms : 



*'The follies of the fool are known to the 
world, but are hidden from himself; the follies 
of the wise are known to himself, but hidden from 
tlie world." 

Many an adage relates to fools. A familiar 
one is : "Godsends fools fortune." According 
to this, poverty is wisdom. " Children and fools 
have merry lives," is a proverb we can all be- 
lieve. Shakespeare has several hundred allus- 
ions to the fool. The Bible also takes due notice 
of the species. Goethe was evidently bored b}^ 
one when he wrote: "Of all thieves fools are the 
worst; they rob you of time and temper." 

"Experience keeps a dear school, but fools 
will learn in no other," says Poor Richard. Yea, 
even wise men have been known to gain instruc- 
tion from that master! 

According to the modern interpretation a fool 
is a person who deviates from right reason. We 
are thus forced to the conclusion that there will 
be fools as long as there are human beings : for 
nobody reasons right about everything; and some, 
alas! reason right about nothing. So it is not 
out of order to exclaim with the immortal bard: 

" Lord, what fools these mortals be !" 



A MISSIONARY MISS. 

She was charitable — very, 

And siie helped the missionary 
With voice and purse and everything like that. 

Sympathy she cultivated, 

And all social vice berated — 
But she wore five little birds upoii her bat ! 

She attended Browning classes, 

And could quote from " Pippa Passes," 

And she knew the needs of natives in Samoa. 
She was dainty as the dickens — 
Shuddered at the death of chickens — 

But she wore a head and claws upon her boa! 

On philanthropy she doted, 
To prayer meeting was devoted, 

And she never, never plaj'ed progressive euchre! 
But a claw of alligator 
Held tlie purse her wealthy pater 

Kept o'erflowing with her missionary lucre! 



ON THE SHADY SIDE. 

The shady side of State street ! 

Behold the happy throng 
Of young and old, of rich and poor, 

How gay they march along ! 
A shadow is a pleasing thing 

When Mercurj^ has hied 
Himself unto his highest roost 

Upon the sunn}^ side. 

The shady side of State street ! 

I'll take it every time. 
As long as Summer keeps a hold 

Upon this northern clime. 
Let others swelter in the sun, 

And freckle up their hide — 
But I can keep quite warm enough 

Upon the shady side! 

39 



AMERICAN ART STANDARDS, 

AMERICA has an art. The World's Fair es- 
tablished that fact. But it is not an art 
which caters to the highest ideals. The 
trouble with our art is that its devotees are pro- 
fessionals. We hear and see art created for the 
sake of fame or money; but " art for art's sake" 
— who has seen that? 

A great artist selects a small canvas and sa3's: 
" I will produce a thousand-dollar picture upon 
this." He picks out a larger canvas and re- 
marks, " That ought to bring me two thousand 
dollars;" or, "I will paint an exhibition picture 
on that." Art — high art — is not his incentive. 

Our most able writers are turning out book 
after book, article over article, on the strength 
of the demand for something good VN'hich they 

-10 



may once have written. Result — much words, 
few ideas, and ultimate loss of strength. 

The greatest musician or actor of the da}' is 
the one who commands the largest box-office re- 
ceipts. Their art is "as much gold as may be 
grasped thus." 

This demoralization is not so much the fault 
of our artists. Thej^ must live. Their talent is 
a commodity — for sale at so much a yard, because 
the dear public estimates art by square measure. 

It is the fault of our boasted civilization. In 
a free country art has no patrons. The public 
patronizes but does not foster. The public at- 
tends the annual exhibit of the art league. It 
buys the new volume of Hovvells. It purchases 
tickets in the dress circle. It is willing to ap- 
plaud a good thing, but it takes no interest in 
producing. " Let art take its chances among the 
weeds," says the dear public. "If it survive, it 
is worthy. If not, it is better dead." 

The public is wrong. Art needs protection 
first, then stimulus, then appreciation. Protect 
by law, stimulate by endowment, and appreciate 
b}^ actual feeling, and American art will ri.se to 
the leadership of all arts. 

41 



THE SNOWFLAKE. 

Heaven-born, to earth descending 
With countless others blending; 
Then gone: O man, in me 
Behold th}^ destiny! 



A NEW YEAR THOUGHT. 

To the rich harvest of upgathered years 
Another vSheaf is added — golden grain. 

Warmed with our smiles, bedewed with our tears, 
And garnered with the serrate knife of pain. 

But whoso from a stony, barren soil 

Brings forth a harvest of good deeds, shall he 
Not rest far more contented from his toil 

Than one who gleans from meadows rich and 
free? 

42 



FREEDOM'S LAW, 

All men are free! — Yet each one may abuse 
His liberty, and hold his power in vnin. 

(live not th\ will to an\ wanton nse, 

Lest Freedom bind thee with a ^allin^ chain 



AD ASTRA. 

When eve is nigh, 
Onr hearts would sink in deep despair 
Did we not know that morning fair 
Would follow^ night. 

When death is nigh, 
Our souls would fail us, as the day. 
Did we not know this darkened way 
Would lead to light. 

4a 



OUR HOUSEHOLD GODDESSES. 

ONCE Vvnthin the history of man there were 
household gods, but now the divinities that 
rule over our homes and home life are not 
of the masculine gender. They are of the gen- 
tler sex. For centuries man was ruler, monarch, 
lord and master in the home. But wnth advanc- 
ing civilization came other pursuits than those of 
war and pillage; the men were more at home and 
gave their wives a chance to learn the w^eak and 
vulnerable points in their characters. Thus b}^ 
slow degrees woman worked her way to a posi- 
tion where she had influence with the adminis- 
tration. 

Addison, who once edited a society paper, 
was wont to pay his respects to his feminine read- 
ers whenever opportunity offered. The following 
extract from one of his essays, written in the un- 
offending style of that gentle humorist, discloses 
a picture of woman two hundred j^ears ago: 

' ' I have often thought there has not been suf- 
ficient pains taken in finding out proper employ- 

14 



meiits for the fair ones. Their auuisemenls seem 
contrived for them, rather as they are women, 
than as the\^ are reasonable creatures, and are 
more adapted to the sex than to the species. The 
toilet is their great scene of business, and the 
right adjusting of their hair the principal employ- 
ment of their lives. The sorting of a suit of rib- 
bons is reckoned a very good morning's work, 
and if they make an excursion to a mercer's or 
a toy shop, so great a fatigue makes them unfit 
for anything else all the day after. Their more 
serious occupations are sewing and embroider}^ 
and their greatest drudgery the preparation of 
jellies and sweetmeats," 

As we read this tender tribute we cannot l)ut 
feel that it was a true one. He does not state 
what he thinks "proper employment for the fair 
ones," for it would have been suicide to him had 
he ventured a radical opinion on the subject. 

The old Puritans who founded New England 
were ahva3\s suspicious of the advance of woman. 
There is a credible story concerning the wife of 
Governor Hopkins of the Hartford Colony, who 
by much reading and writing came to Io.se her 
understanding and reason. John Winthrop de- 
livered the following opinion concerning this sad 
case: 



'* If she had attended her household affairs, 
and such things as belong to woman, and n.ot 
gone out of her way an.d calling to meddle in 
such things as are proper for men, whose minds 
are stronger, etc., she had kept her wits and might 
have improved them usefully and honorably in 
the place God had set her," 

It is perhaps not inap])n>])riate to remark that 
Governor Winthrop's ideas of God and woman 
were limited. Centuries of tradition had made 
him offensively partisan on those subjects. 

The rearing of small families containing from 
eighteen to twent3'-four children, the cooking, 
washing, sewing and darning for the entire out- 
fit, and any little supplementary duties, v/ere 
doubtless considered the "way and calling " of 
the New England Puritan woman. 

Another old Puritan writer, one Nathaniel 
Ward, makes the following rhetorical attack upon 
some new fashion among the women: 

" To speak modestly, I truly confess it is be- 
3'ond the ken of my understanding to conceive 
how those women should have any true grace or 
valuable virtue, that have so little wit as to dis- 
figure themselves with such exotic garbs as not 
only dismantles their native lovely lustre but 

4(1 



transclouts them into gantbar-cheese, iil-sbapen- 
shotten shell-fish, Eg^^ptian hieroglyphics, or at 
the best into French flirts of the pastery," 

We tremble to think what the result Vv'ould 
be if Mr. Ward were to drop down among the 
fashions of today. It would surely be a severe 
test upon his vocabulary. 

The eighteenth century aided woman to be- 
come an adornment to society as well as a do- 
mestic prodigy. The nineteenth centur}^ has 
been one of rapid development for woman. She 
has been given advantages in education, religion, 
society, business, and even in politics. She is 
transferring her field of conquest beyond the pale 
of the home. We are losing our household di- 
vinities, but v/e are gaining new divinities in the 
arts and sciences, the professions and the callings. 
The girls who used to be "finished off" at a 
stiff seminary and then allowed to grow aged at 
home without an occupation, have taken up some- 
thing worth while. It may be the kindergarten 
idea, or the sloyd v/ork, or medicine, or perhaps 
it is journalism or the legal profession. The bars 
of public sentiment have been lovv'ered, and any 
calling honorable for man is now considered hon- 
orable for woman. 



The skilled in lioroscopy may find no more 
timely subject than the woman of the future. 
What sort of a product will the twentieth cen- 
tury girl be? Will she be a single or a double 
flower, a society belle or a home-maker, a busi- 
ness woman or an idler, dependent or independ- 
ent, cultured or barbarian, aristocratic or com- 
mon-sensiljle ? 

In ye olden time a girl was considered well 
disposed of and off her mother's hands when she 
was married. Until that happy event was as- 
sured, she was a constant source of unrest and 
dismay. A familiar adage puts it, " The worst 
store is a maid unbestowed," But what are we 
to do when the office of the household goddess 
goes begging? Will there be nothing but male 
and female bachelors in the twentieth century? 
Or will men be forced to return to the old-time 
masculine occupation of household gods? 



THE BOLD RESOLVE. 

There's a little bright-eyed maiden. 

With a wreath of pretty hair, 
And a merr}' heart that's laden 

Only with a school-girl's care. 

Now I'm sure she loves me dearly, 
But she will not tell me so; 

And I love her too, sincerely. 

But I'm bashful, don't you know? 

Yet I'm going to be a man, sir. 
On this winter's day so fine, 

And request for this an answer: 
"Will you be my Valentine?" 



THE SNOWFLAKE PARTY. 

Miss Snowflake gave a party 

Close by a shady nook, 
And invited all the snowflakes 

To dance upon the brook. 

She dressed in silvery whiteness 
And powdered her soft hair; 

She wore a diamond necklace 
As she floated through the air. 

When the guests had all assembled, 
She softly fluttered down, 

So cool, so calm and stately, 
In her simple, pretty gown. 

And then they laughed and chatted, 
And played at hide-and-seek, 

And danced a dizzy reel or two 
Upon the frozen creek . 

50 



What did they have for supper? 

You'll never guess, I see- 
Not even bread and butter, 

But only snowflake tea! 

The sun had heard the laughter, 
As they cracked their icy jokes; 

And he sent a sunbeam after 
The noisiest little folks. 

This broke up all the dancing, 
And scared Miss Snowflake so. 

She sent her maid a-prancing 
To tell the wind to blow . 

The wind came in an instant 
And whisked them all away; 

And now there's nothing left to tell 
Of the party on that day! 



BRIC-A-BRAC. 

'^T^HH term ' bric-a-brac ' applies not alone to 
X the collections of artistic models in pottery, 
bits of marble and mosaic, ancient coins 
and curios. There are bric-a-brac people. 

You have all met the bric-a-brac man — the 
jack-at-all-trades, the man who has had countless 
minor experiences, and who persists in parading 
his rare and ancient jokes, his costly business 
transactions, or his dearly-bought personal expe- 
riences. 

No less frequent is the bric-a-brac woman, 
who is flitting constantly from one flower to an- 
other; taking a sip of a reading circle, a bite of 
a lecture course, a sup of music, and a big gulp 
of painting. Yes, you hav^e all met her. She is 
so enthusiastic over her literary club, her music 
teacher is the very last one from Germany, the 
lecture she attended was ^-^ entertaining — and her 
efforts at art are so crude! Yet withal .she is not 
an unpleasant person to meet. But thoroughness 
is entirely out of her scheme, and she comes un- 
der the head of bric-a-brac — a little of everything 
and not much of anything. 

52 



The bric-a-brac species is a poor one for ain^ 
human being who wants to be somebody. 

There are other bric-a-brac institutions, also. 
The modern residence is not considered entirel}' 
beautiful and proper unless it is full of turns and 
angles, and is covered with meaningless turrets 
and other gingerbread fretwork. The beauty of 
a Gothic style of architecture lies in its being 
Gothic. If a principle is worth anything, it 
needs no fringes. 

The country store that carries in stock the 
needs of the neighborhood, has a larger and more 
senseless model in the great bric-a-brac mercantile 
house of the city, where one can buy anj^thing, 
from a yeast cake to a city lot — with a guarantee 
that both will rise. 

The modern university is in the nature of a 
bric-a-brac affair — offering bits of everything in 
the way of an education. Its course of studj^ is 
a series of samples. It endeavors to hold the 
great broad field of knowledge in one hand and 
give it out piecemeal with the other. 

The tendency of the hour is to diversity, and 
not to concentration. The need of the hour is 
less of bric-a-brac and more of actual worth and 
accomplishment in the lines of work that amount 
to somethinof. 



SWEET SABBATH DAY. 

Sweet Sabbath day! B}^ th)^ soft wind 
The heads of lofty trees inclined 

Their humble tribute pay. 
The bird-choir sings from chancel green 
The songs of peace and joy serene: 
They chant their sweetest hymns, I ween, 

On Sabbath day. 

Beneath thy shade my spirit lies; 
My soul looks upward to the skies 

Whence comes my help alway. 
There is a rest from every care, 
There is an all-pervading prayer — 
The good in life is everywhere, 

On Sabbath day. 

To feelings parched with grief and pain 
The Sabbath comes like gentle rain 

To cool the heated way. 
The weary mortal and oppressed, 
The poor, the sick, are doubly blest 
By thy return, O day of rest, 

Sweet Sabbath day! 



LAKE FOREST LAUDAMUS. 

COLLEGE SONG. 

Beneath thine oak-trees' mantling shade 

We learn to love thee well. 
Our echoing songs from glade to glade 

Thy countless praises tell. 

Cho. — With nature's volume opened wide, 
With grand professors too, 
No task is lighter than to learn 
At noble L. F. U. 

Upon the varjang tide of life 

We all shall drift ere long, 
So let our college days be rife 

With mirth and happy song. 

Then be our hearts like mighty oaks — 
Expansive, staunch and true; 

Our hopes as buoyant as the sail 
Upon thy waters blue! 



TOLD BY THE BELLS. 

Mollie, listen to the jingle o' the bells o' girls 
an' bo3'S — 

lyaughin' girls, 
Ronipin' boys! 
Ain't it jest a combination full o' music and o' 
noise? 

Music sweet — 
Happy noise. 
An' the snow is full o' sparkle, like it always 

uster glow 
In the da3\s o' fun an' frolic long ago, dear, long 
ago! 

Listen, Mollie, to the ringin' o' the bells in mid- 
dle life- 
Man an' wife 
Joined in life. 
They're a-tinklin' kind o' stead}^ like they'd seen 
some care an' strife; 



Hver,v life 
Meets vvdtli strife. 
An' the snow ain't quite so glowy, cin' tliere's 

clouds across the moon, — 
But there's here an' there a pearly patch that's 
nigh as bright as noon! 

Mollie, hearken to the tollin' of the aged mellow 
bells- 
How it swells 
O'er the dells— 
Pealin' kind o' clear an' quiet, sayin' somethin' 
that foretells 

Closin' life, 
Free from strife — 
Snow-clad graves down in the church5'ard, with 

the little old church spire 
Pointin' upward, ever upward — reachin' higher 
an' still hieher! 



/ am the last leaf on this little 
braneh. I hope yoii are not weary 
with ivaiting for vie. I kyiow the 
other leaves have tried not to be too 
long. We shall all look forzvard 
7inth pleasure to jneeting von agai?i 
some time. You have been very kind 
to us, and it is hard to say Good-bye. 
Come again? Oh, thank you I Then 
I won't say Good-bye — I' II just say 
Good Evening I 




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